


The Slytherin Muggleborn

by sabhnc



Series: The First [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabhnc/pseuds/sabhnc
Summary: Narcissa Black is the perfect pureblood lady. Smart, poised, and contracted to the heir of a wealthy family. Her future seems certain. But the arrival of Slytherin's first muggleborn student throws a wrench in all her plans.
Relationships: Narcissa Malfoy/Original Character(s)
Series: The First [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029591
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. First Year

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my latest work! This is the first in a two-part series, both works are fairly long. I will try and update every week, as I have almost finished the entire series.  
> This series, especially the first installment, deals a lot with drugs, gangs, and the London criminal scene--all of which I know very little about. I have done some research, but much of it likely remains inaccurate. Just know that going in.  
> As this deals with the aforementioned topics, and the First Wizarding War, there's going to be a lot of violence. Family, home, love, and betrayal are also among the main topics.  
> If you've made it through this lengthy note, thank you. Now, enjoy chapter one.

**September 1st, 1969**

Narcissa knew there was something different about the boy from the moment he walked through the doors. He had a slight smirk, not unlike those that the pureblood heirs wore, though it was clear he did not count among their number. His eyes flickered over his peers, as if grading each and every one. She would later learn he was searching for marks. Who was gullible, who was the least guarded, who was dumb enough to leave money and jewelry just lying around?

It was clear from his name that he was no pureblood. Williams, Jacob. There were no wizarding Williams’, at least not among the truly pure, those whose families had been wizards since the records began. There were a handful of lesser ‘pureblood’ families with the name, though Narcissa knew little of them. They were not good enough to associate with the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.

The hat barely touched the boy’s head before he had been sorted into Slytherin, walking towards the table with a smirk. He sat down near Trajan Avery, a young pureblood heir who, she would later learn, he had pegged as easily fooled and unguarded.

Narcissa’s attentions were soon called back to the sorting, and then to her sisters’ bickering over this, that, and generally anything that could be bickered over throughout the feast.

Eobard Wilkes was a second-year. His family was pure but not noble, placed just below the likes of the Crabbes and Goyles. Thankfully those heirs were truly moronic, meaning Eobard and his family would soon have the opportunity to rise. To take that opportunity, however, he needed to get in good with the noble families. As always, the easiest way was through their children. And the easiest way to gain respect in Slytherin House, especially for half-bloods and younger families? Prove your commitment to blood purity.

Eobard smirked as he turned, spinning towards the first years, who had at last entered the common room. He quickly found the chit he was looking for and stalked towards him. As he approached the fool smirked, his eyes twinkling with mirth. That was fine. Eobard would get the last laugh.

“What’s with the smirk, newbie?” Eobard asked, his tone calling attention towards them. “Think you’re something special? You’re just another mudblood like the rest. Best learn your place fast.” Silence gave way to whispers after the phrase had been said as word quickly spread through Slytherin House of their latest persona non-grata. Eobard smiled at his work. Maybe the eldest Black would talk to him this year. Or Narcissa, though he was not naive enough to think she would ever marry the likes of him.

“Mudblood,” the mudblood repeated, a note of humor in his voice. “Don’t think I’ve been called that before.”

“Better get used to it,” Eobard said. “It’s your name now.” The mudblood quirked an eyebrow and shook his head.

“Sorry,” he said. “Can’t let you do that.”

“Oh yea-aaaaah!” Eobard screeched. The mudblood had bent into a crouch before Eobard even started talking again, sweeping his leg across Eobard’s. Eobard screeched as he felt the kick, then his body fall. The mudblood grabbed his shoulder with one hand, pivoted, and slammed Eobard’s face into the floor, causing him to screech again. Eobard tried to push himself up, going for his wand, but it was no use. The mudblood moved swiftly, yanking his wand arm behind his back, twisting it and pressing on it to force him back down. His left arm searched for his wand uselessly. It stopped only when he felt the cold bite of steel against his neck.

“I could kill you right now,” the mudblood whispered, though it was clear from the silence that everyone was listening. Eobard shook, struggling not to cry. “I could skin your neck one slice at a time. But you’re not worth the hassle.” The knife left his throat and Eobard sobbed in relief. “Make sure you stay that way.”

The mudblood stood, hand firmly gripping the back of Eobard’s robes and yanking him upright before shoving him into the crowd. Eobard stumbled before turning to glare at the filthy scum.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jacob Williams was eating breakfast at the Slytherin table. He had known that Slytherins tended not to like those outside of the old families, but he hadn’t expected it to be this bad. After Eobard, everyone had mostly left him alone and treated him formally in class. When he had approached them outside it, however, he was always turned down with a sneer, regardless of what he said. Some had tried to “prank” him, as the students apparently referred to minor attacks. One had succeeded, causing Jacob’s bag to split at the seam and for ink to throw itself across his face. Jacob had left to clean himself, which appeared to encourage his classmates. That night at dinner he heard more than a few students discussing plans to attack him.

A few bruises and a knife wound that the victim refused to talk about later, and the attack plans seemed to slip from everyone’s mind, though they still avoided him.

Later that day, Jacob was in the library, reading what appeared to be  _ A History of Magic _ . Knowledge was power, any fool knew that. At home in his world of East London, it was Jacob’s knowledge of the firms and their low-level street operators that gave him power. At Hogwarts, the knowledge of new spells (especially those deemed above one’s grade level) gave one power over others. In Slytherin, the darker the spell the better.

The book’s covers were, in fact, those of  _ A History of Magic _ . It was the only book large enough for the covers to fit over what Jacob was actually reading:  _ Dark as Night, a Guide to the Dark Arts _ . It had been far easier to steal than Jacob had expected. There were no real barriers to the Restricted Section, no age lines or wards or shields. No alarm went off when Jacob took the book out of the section, nor when he took it out of the library. True, the entrance to the Restricted Section was right in front of the librarian’s desk, but there were at least four other ways to get in.

“Hello there,” an unfamiliar voice said. “What are you reading?” Jacob closer the book, looking up. His eyebrows jumped before he could school them into a placid look. The youngest (and quietest) of the Black sisters, Narcissa, was standing in front of him.

“ _ A History of Magic _ ,” Jacob replied. Narcissa’s eyebrows rose in a carefully schooled manner.

“Is that so?” she asked, grabbing the book. She opened it and started flipping through the pages.

“My my,” she said. “It seems to have gotten much more interesting since I last read it.”

“It’s the latest edition,” Jacob replied. “The new author tends to go off on tangents about the methods of certain. . . darker wizards. I suppose some find it rather useful to know their practices. To protect against it, of course,” he added with a bright smile.

“Of course,” Narcissa replied. “One must always be cautious.” Jacob’s eyes flickered subtly, catching a glimpse of Narcissa’s eldest sister with one of the older boys. He heard footsteps behind him and discreetly lowered his wand into his hand.

“Ah, Narcissa,” a drawling voice came from behind him. Jacob turned, looking up at the pale blond-framed face of Lucius Malfoy. It was an open secret that Narcissa was, for all intents and purposes, betrothed the the Malfoy heir. “Is the mudbl--” Lucius was cut off by the press of Jacob’s wand against his throat. He had stood so fast even Narcissa was surprised. He stepped forward, forcing the older boy up against the wall.

“Hello Malfoy,” Jacob said with a smile. “Care to finish that sentence?” The older boy gulped, quickly shaking his head. “I thought that would be the answer.” He lowered his wand, quickly turning and shoving him towards Narcissa.

“You--My father will hear of this!” Lucius spluttered.

“Yes,” Jacob said, his face blank but humor creeping at the edge of his voice. “I’m sure your father would love to hear how a first-year from muggle London managed to disarm his son and pin him against a wall. That would definitely fill him with pride. Do you know if curses can be sent by Howler?” Malfoy had paled considerably despite his already pasty complexion. He sneered at Jacob as he finished.

“This isn’t over,” Malfoy said. 

“I know, Peacock,” Jacob said with a smile, tossing back the long elm wand. “I can’t wait.”

“We’re going, Narcissa,” Malfoy spat. The Black nodded solemnly despite the humor glistening in her blue eyes, then took Malfoy’s hand and walked away, having placed the book back on the table.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The rankings were, as always, posted outside the Great Hall roughly a week before the Hogwarts Express was due to leave. Bella had graduated at the top of her class, something that had her glowing with pride, no matter how much she said it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Narcissa refrained from rolling her eyes, just this once. Bella was graduating, after all. She was entitled to some preening. Andy ranked third among the sixth years, a one-place increase from last year. The boy who’d ranked first the past five years had managed to give himself severe brain damage experimenting over the summer. Ravenclaws. Narcissa herself ranked first among the third years, though that would no doubt change soon. At a certain point what one learned in class and what was covered in the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s (as well as what was useful in the real world) diverged. Narcissa was determined to focus on the real world before the academic one, and on the all-important tests over classroom grades that would be forgotten within a few years.

It was out of pure curiosity (she assured herself) that Narcissa looked at the first-year rankings. She had inspected the other three years beforehand, convincing herself that it really was just curiosity and a desire to know who was who. Fifth year was led by Pandora d'Couture of Ravenclaw. She was the latest in the line of moderately wealthy purebloods of 17th century French ancestry. Somehow she had been betrothed to Xenophilius Lovegood. While of middling resources (and having a reputation with excessive eccentricity that meant many took them none too seriously) the Lovegoods were an ancient family, dating back to Boudicea. They also owned one of the few major publications in Wizarding Britain. Rabastan Lestrange, Rodolphus’ younger brother, was in second place, albeit by a large margin. Pandora was ludicrously intelligent, even by the standards of her house.

Fourth year was being led by a Hufflepuff, who was followed by a trio of Ravenclaws and Lucius. The second years were being led by Michelle Grendel McGonagall, despite how notoriously tough her mother was on her. Then again, Narcissa shuddered to think how Professor McGonagall would react should her child fail to meet expectations. From what her uncle said, she would have been top of her class in any other year. Not unlike her great-grandfather, Cygnus II, she had been overshadowed by the presence of a world-changing figure. In her ancestor’s case, it had been Dumbledore. In McGonagall’s, Lord Voldemort, the head of the houses of Slytherin and Gaunt.

First year, however, was the one she was most intrigued by. She had been surprised by Williams, Slytherin’s first muggleborn. For some reason she couldn’t quite think of him as a mudblood. Especially after he had stolen Lucius’ wand without her noticing. The Malfoy heir could be a fool, but Narcissa was normally much more observant.

Mudbloods tended to do poorly in the rankings, due to their weak magic, inferior blood, and lack of proper culture, though the Light made sure to blame it on the old families. Something about keeping their knowledge hidden. It made Narcissa want to snort in derision, though she was far too elegant to actually do so. As if any of the so-called Light families were jumping to share family secrets.

There seemed to be an exception to the rule, however. Right at the top of the list for the first-years read: “1. Williams, Jacob. 99.87%/100%.” Narcissa blinked. Ever since the Board of Governors had eliminated bonus points and extra credit no one had scored above 99.6% for the year. Williams’ score, even if it was only his first year, was a big deal. It was an even bigger deal considering he was 1. a Slytherin, 2. a Mugg-Mudblood, and 3. had taken down Wilkes, Lucius, and (if the rumors were true) Rosier. Her instincts were proven right once again. Williams was quite different.


	2. First Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back from Hogwarts, Jacob reinserts himself into his less than legal home life

Jacob stared at his notebook. He had managed to get a compartment to himself. Between the Slytherin’s hatred for those born to muggles (Jacob hated the term  _ muggleborn _ , as if his weak parents could possibly define him) their fear of the boy who had defeated three pureblood heirs, and everyone else’s derision and fear of Slytherin, it wasn’t hard to manage.

A vast web of names was scrawled out in his notebook. Jacob had fortunately managed to get a subscription to the  _ East London Advertiser _ and so wasn’t completely out of the loop, though he wasn’t as informed as he needed to be. Once again Jacob thanked whoever was listening (probably no one) that he had been taken to this crazy school last September, not the one before. Had he been taken in 1968 he would almost certainly be shut out. The arrest of the Krays and their inner circle had thrown everyone for a loop. Word had been Scotland Yard wanted more evidence. Hell, that’s probably why the Krays were still in town and not halfway to some bribe-loving, asylum-happy, hyphen-crazy third-world country.

It took the better part of an hour to get to where Jacob had last worked. He’d let Johnny know he’d be gone for the year, so hopefully there was still a place waiting for him. He’d also used the shrinking charm on his trunk before he left. Fortunately, the damn thing hadn’t worn off halfway through the underground. That would’ve been rather awkward to explain.

Johnny’s place hadn’t changed much since Jacob was last there. It was still a ramshackle abandoned warehouse, though there was more rust on the piece of corrugated iron that lay by the door. The inside was still filled with passed-out or still-tripping druggies, though not as much as before. It looked like Johnny’s feeling about cocaine was right.

“Jacob!” Johnny called when Jacob finally entered the “office.” Truthfully, it was more of Johnny’s personal space, featuring the only actual bed in the building. Though there was a desk. Johnny’s lanky arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace. “Long time no see.”

“Missed you too,” Jacob said with a grin. “Glad to see you haven’t just forgotten ‘bout me.” Johnny rolled his eyes.

“Like I could forget my best smuggleh!” the boss declared, his strong Cockney accent overwhelming the consonants. “Been a bitch of a time, tryin’ ta make it back from the docks.”

“Looks like your hunch ‘bout cocaine’s been going well.”

“Ah, yes an’ no. It’s pickin’ up, ‘specially for us, since I’m th’ only dealer ‘tween New’am and Havering.” Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Only major dealer,” Johnny corrected. “There’s a couple workin’ for me down by Dalston, a few more towards Redbridge.”

“Any competition?”

“Not for our lot,” Johnny replied. “Not yet least ways. The ol’ firms got the rich locked up good but ain’t stumbled onto th’ masses yet. I been workin’ wit’ some of th’ Turks--”

“Mainlanders or Cypriots?” Johnny gave him a withering look.

“Cypriots, do I look like an idiot?” he sighed. “Tha’s your first job. They got some contact down by the dock, bringin’ in six kilos o’ coke. Oughta do us for a while. Think you can carry tha’ much?”

“Course I can,” Jacob replied. “‘Member that time up by Ilford, next to the pub?”

“Which one?”

“The one with the damn statues!” Johnny laughed.

“Oh God, tha’ plod’s face!”

“Before or after?” Jacob asked, tongue in cheek.

“Before, th’ after weren’t much for looking at! Threw that damn bird halfway through ‘is face!”

“It was his fault,” Jacob laughed. “What kinda cop gets within a bloody half-meter of a dealer and bloody well crouches to look ‘im in the eye?”

“In ‘is defense,” Johnny said, grinning. “Ya don’t need t’ crouch to look most of us in th’ eye.” Jacob rolled his eyes again, deciding that remark wasn’t worth a response. Instead he waited until Johnny stopped laughing before asking the next question.

“When’s the meeting?”

“Half-past midnight, the abandoned dock’ouse in Blackwall with the tags.”

“The commie one or the school-kids?”

“Commie, rich uni’s been takin’ over the school-kid one.” Jacob’s nose twitched in disgust.

“Best settle in now then,” he said. With a nod from Johnny, he left, walking towards the small enclave in the black. It was another room, slightly larger than Johnny’s. It was shared between his smugglers, with security getting the largest one. Everyone else in the gang slept on the blankets near the walls, separated from the passed-out customers by an invisible and undisturbed line. Taking his trunk out of his pocket, Jacob placed it by his bed. Damn thing had cost him near a thousand quid. Looked nice enough though, and no one argued with his rationale of blending in with the rich at boarding school. It made them that much easier to con, after all.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The dock house had changed little. The commies had upped their game, managing to score a Chinese flag to hang beside the Soviet one. They were still looking for Vietnamese and Cuban ones, and had reportedly given up on finding a North Korean one. Whether that had anything to do with the reports of forced labor, starvation, mass-murder, and corruption or simple lack of availability, Jacob and no idea.

The commies were easy to work with. They were mostly hard-liners who viewed any criminal activity as a strike against the state. Johnny’d been working with them for years on a simple, no-name, no-questions basis. There was a room that the commies never entered at night. Whenever it was used, there would be a hundred pounds in tens slid under the door. Johnny had used the room for all kinds of things, from brokering meetings with illicit plastic surgeons to territorial negotiations. It was a known no-violence zone. That was one of the commie’s few rules. No bloodshed, no violence, and no shouting. Keep quiet, leave no traces besides the money, and get out before dawn.

Jacob had a knack for avoiding the police. At first he thought it was because he was small and young. That definitely helped avoid being a suspect during the daytime, but at night someone young stood out, though being small did make him harder to spot. When he was ten he’d been about to pick up some pot when the building was raided and everyone ran or hid. He’d known something was off after a cop walked into the side-room he was hidden in, searched around, and still didn’t find him. It had made a lot more sense after getting that Hogwarts letter. Fortunately the owl’d caught him out on the street. It would have been rather had to explain to the rest of the gang.

The Room, as it was simply named, was empty when Jacob arrived, dressed in a black outfit with a hood pulled over his face. He didn’t have to wait long though. The other man showed up within a few minutes, dressed similarly. Both were wearing gloves. Jacob could see a pistol hidden under the man’s jacket and had three switchblades hidden himself.

“Ipswitch Garden?” the man asked, his voice lightly accented. Jacob pegged him as second, maybe third generation.

“Junipers change daily,” Jacob replied. Where Johnny came up with these passcodes he had no idea. They were as brilliant as they were idiotic though. There was no way in hell a plant could guess what the correct phrases would be. Maybe if it was Eric Idle, or John Cleese, though Jacob doubted they’d have much to do with a cocaine bust other than snorting the evidence.

“Six,” the man said, handing over his backpack.

“One-eighty,” Jacob replied, handing over his bag. Crouching down, he slid a thin clip under the door. As he stood the man nodded, then headed out the back door. Jacob headed out the front, the deal complete. His route back was already mapped. He’d get off the island over a bridge closed for construction. He’d then cut through the back-to-back closed shopping centres before hopping over the tracks and passing by another abandoned dockyard. There were a couple of primary schools nearby that he could cross through before cutting across the train yard. He’d need to time things right, but it wouldn’t be too difficult to get to the park, and from there it was all dark, unpatrolled alleyways back to the warehouse.

Unfortunately, things did not go exactly as planned. One of the shopping centres had hired night patrol officers since he’d last crossed through. Fortunately, it was a poorly trained, overweight patrol officer who he easily out-ran with what he suspected was magically enhanced speed. He’d needed to dodge a few sketchy people by the dock and in the park (a bit ironic when he thought about it, considering he was one of those sketchy people) but it had largely been clear sailing the rest of the way back. He’d need to walk around soon though. He wasn’t willing to be on all the mall cops being that inept.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jacob met with the fence a month after he’d arrived, give or take. The man, whose name was Pete, worked for one of the firms. Smaller gangs, especially those in poorer areas like Johnny’s, didn’t have fences of their own, instead using pawn shops. Few of their stolen goods were worth more than thirty quid anyways, so it’s not like anyone’d bother reporting it to the police, let alone have them bother looking for it. At Hogwarts, however, Jacob had managed to steal much more valuable items, though only a few of them. Most of the jewelry he’d seen or found was magical, which meant that it was 1. a family artifact (probably) 2. a priority problem if he sold it in the muggle world 3. likely protected, and 4. easily traced. He had instead settled for stealing a few ornate watches and some jewelry.

Since Pete worked for a different group he would pay them before the goods were actually sold. It also meant he’d pay them much less, at most sixty percent of what they were worth. Of that sixty percent, Johnny would take a third, or twenty percent of what the damn thing was actually worth. Of Johnny’s third, a third would go towards general gang expenses, with the rest being for Johnny himself. All in all, Jacob would be getting only forty percent of what the items would likely sell for, and that was at most. That said, it wasn’t like he’d put much work into it. The percentages were based on the idea that the theif had to case a house, disable or avoid security systems, steal the items, leave the house, leave no evidence behind, and time everything perfectly. Normally weeks would go into that work, with eight to ten hours a day. Jacob had spent weeks planning his actions, though it had been at most a half-hour to an hour per day. Overall it was a fairly good deal for him, especially since no one could trace it back to him. Hell, no one suspected him. He had made sure to steal a few other things (magical and not) and plant them in obvious hiding spots. Most of them had been found, though some hadn’t. And since the items were stolen from every year, both boys and girls (Jacob having managed to leap over the gender barrier) everyone and no one was a suspect. Everyone had been stolen from, including Jacob. The funniest had been Lucius Malfoy, who loudly complained that his father would hear of this, and Bellatrix Black, who had threatened three girls with a variety of illegal curses.

“Not bad,” Pete said, picking up one of the watches. He inspected it with a UV light, then through a magnifying glass. “Not bad at all. Fully erased the fingerprints, pulled out the pins and set them to exactly noon and midnight. Fully buffed out the scratches too, I see. They’re completely absent on four of them, with only a couple faint ones on the rest. Need a magnifying glass to see most of them.” Okay, maybe he had put in a lot of work. On the other hand, stolen items were worth a  _ lot _ more if they looked like no one had bought them before. “No serial numbers on them. Gold-plated silver, other than those two, which are just silver. This is practically a fence’s dream, you realize?”

“I strive to be thorough,” Jacob responded, mostly succeeding in the attempt to hide his smirk. The percentage the fence took was mostly based off of how easy the item was to get rid of. Something nearly untraceable and undamaged was sixty percent. Something dented, unique, or otherwise easy to identify was closer to thirty.

“Jewelry’s been cleaned as well,” Pete continued. “Though some scratches in the gems remain. Those will be harder to sell though.” Jacob nodded. He wished he could have buffed them as well, but he’d learned the hard way that gems were best left to professionals. He knew enough to remove fingerprints and DNA, that was it.

Pete looked over the assembled collection. Twelve wrist-watches, three necklaces, eight bracelets, and five pairs of earings. All scoured and cleaned as much as they could be. All of exceedingly high quality, fairly easy to move, and without serial numbers. If all his goods were like this, his life would be much easier.

“Twenty-two for the lot*,” he said. Jacob blinked. He was sure he’d misheard. He looked up to see Johnny wide-eyed. He had not misheard.

“Deal,” he said, sticking out his hand. Pete looked towards Johnny, who slowly nodded. Smiling, he shook Jacob’s hand, the piled up the jewelry into a small bag and stood. He opened a backpack, pulling out two stacks of bills which he laid carefully on the table. He then opened a third, counted out twenty, and placed them on top.

“A pleasure, gentlemen,” he said, then walked out the door. Jacob and Johnny turned towards each other, staring blankly for a moment. Jacob laughed, triggering Johnny to embrace him and do the same.

“Twenty-two!” Johnny exclaimed happily. “That’s worth two month’s cocaine margin!”

“Twenty-two thousand pounds,” Jacob said faintly. “Don’t think I even  _ seen _ that much money outside a deal.”

“Well, technically, this was one,” Johnny said with a shit-eating grin. Jacob rolled his eyes. They turned towards the money. Johnny took the twenty, then broke open one of the stacks, counting out fifty-five before wrapping it up and shoving it into a backpack.

“Rest’s yours,” he said, then strode out the door. Opening his own backpack, Jacob carefully placed the money inside. Fourteen thousand, five hundred pounds. Not a bad haul for a twelve-year-old.

*~334,ooo in 2018 pounds


End file.
